Serpent's Coil
by YamzX
Summary: Some time after the events of DA: Inquisition, Dorian can no longer ignore what he feels he is meant to do. The Inquisitor wishes to aid him, but can he do so without overshadowing his inamorato?
1. Serpent's Coil

**Notes:** Hello! Thank you for reading. First of all, if you have NOT completed the story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, be advised that there will likely be spoilers galore in this fanfic. **I recommend finishing the game- otherwise, read at your own risk!**

I wanted to start writing this as a way to continue Dorian's story post-ending, as well as explore further what has been my favorite romance of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Dorian is a fascinating character and I enjoy thinking about how he would even begin to heal the legacy of his people. I intend to write this just for fun, and hopefully for the enjoyment of like-minded players who were left wanting more by the end of the game. To make it easier, I casted my Inquisitor: a human male dual-wielder, also referred to by his surname, Trevelyan.

I intend to keep with the maturity level of the game itself (M), so if harsh language, violence, and sex (particularly male-on-male) is not your thing, then this is your polite warning.

My apologies in advance for Sera as well. I'm American with little exposure to her dialect and have no goddamned clue how to write it. I had fun trying, though!

Enjoy!

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><p>Inquisitor Trevelyan labored up the final steps to his quarters. He sat down heavily on the loveseat on the other side of the banister and began unbuckling the straps of his leather boots. He exhaled, feeling his fatigued muscles relax into the soft cushions. Though crushing them was the easy part, spending the better part of the day trekking across Ferelden, scaling rocky hillside after rocky hillside in search of a Venatori stronghold made for a stinging bitch of a time.<p>

Even Bull was complaining incessantly until the time they had returned to Skyhold. Typically, he would beeline for the tavern, flinging open the door and announcing with relish the thorough ass-kicking they delivered to the Inquisition's enemies. Drinks were on him! This time, however, his fatigue compelled him to mute the bravado. Trevelyan instead watched Bull as he battled the tavern door, hurling colorful invective at the finicky latch. After wrestling with it, he slapped it away with a grunt, raised his boot and warned, "Coming through!"

The craftsman of said door deserved some credit as it withstood Bull's assault rather well. Bull kicked in the locking mechanism, only partially caving in the wrought iron. The weak point was its connection to the wooden jamb, which tore away in a shower of splinters.

"I'll pay for that," Bull shouted to the astonished patrons. He trundled over to his usual chair and unceremoniously plopped himself in it. The patrons looked to the bartender, who simply sighed, shrugged, and continued wiping flagons.

'Pretty sure I will be paying for that,' Trevelyan thought, peeling off one of his boots. He gasped. 'By the Maker, that feels better.'

Sera and Blackwall had comparatively less explosive things to do after they passed through Skyhold's gates. Blackwall was characteristically stoic in his demeanor, saying neutrally that he would be in his usual place. His uncharacteristically delicate gait was the only thing giving away what was likely the screaming pain of innumerable blisters covering his feet. Trevelyan would check on him later.

"Brin' me along for tha' again and I'll top your boots with sheep shite," Sera had said flatly. "You said there'd be fun stuff, but tha' _stuff. wasn't. fun_!" She emphasized with an open-handed rap on Trevelyan's chest. "Except for when I put a few shafts in one's flank before he knew we were comin'. Screeched like a dumb cat gettin' its tail pinched. Hah!" She then spun on her heel and followed Bull's wake of destruction back to her loft.

Trevelyan wrested the second boot off of his foot. He leaned back and relaxed his neck on the headrest. He smiled, reminding himself that he had the best friends in the world. His smile faded, though, as the excursion was not nearly as enjoyable as it might have been had Dorian not declined the invitation.

"Though it pains me to disappoint you, amatus, I promise to make up for my indolence another time," he had said with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Trevelyan accepted, but had noted the unusual lack of pep in Dorian's delivery.

Dorian's delivery was not nearly as stark, however, as the refusal itself. Since Trevelyan had met him, Dorian was brimming with enthusiasm- for adventure, for his homeland Tevinter, and for the kind of enlightened rule the Inquisition fought for. His zeal then seemed limitless when Dorian discovered that his Inquisitor, a (maybe?) god-touched leader who had proved worthy of his respect, was also a man and a precious friend with whom Dorian could share his heart's deepest secrets. Trevelyan was pleasantly surprised by a certain tidbit, though he was saddened to witness Dorian struggle with what was an egregious flaunt of the political expectations his father had. After this side of him came to light, Dorian was beside himself when Trevelyan not only accepted his preference for other men, but had welcomed him and his "flaunting" all the way into his bedchamber.

Their intimate liaison with one another naturally resulted in the two being inseparable companions in Skyhold and on the road. No matter where the Inquisitor was off to, whether it was a stinking darkspawn-infested swamp or an endless ocean of barren desert, it was assumed that the Necromancer and his merciless teasing would be along. Fortunately, everyone else had wised up to him and either learned to shrug it off or to parry his witty remarks.

Trevelyan smiled when listening to Dorian lament that "their journeys over all of hell's asshole and back were not nearly as fun as they used to be!" The Inquisitor loved seeing everyone get along in their own way. He loved that though his friends came from such different walks of life, they all found a way to get along with one another. He, too, had made it a point to learn as much as he could about these remarkable men an women who were willing to risk their lives for him and their cause. In the process he learned a lot about himself as well.

In particular, during the time after the events of the Temple of Mythal, Trevelyan faced a grim understanding of how deeply he valued Dorian being at his side. He faced the words that he dreaded to hear from his lover: that he was leaving. When it was all over, when Corypheus was dead for good, Dorian to return to Tevinter in order to rescue it from itself. That he, Trevelyan, and the Inquisition had inspired him to do so.

Ironic, then, that though Trevelyan would have never wavered otherwise, and that he would lead his friends through the impossible in order to shield the world from demons and evil men, he also had inwardly vowed to hold the world together so that he and Dorian could have a future worth sharing together.

To Trevelyan's relief, Dorian did not abscond immediately after Corypheus' demise, instead offering his continued assistance until some indefinite moment in the future when he would "most assuredly, definitely, absolutely be leaving for Tevinter. Just not right now, yes?"

Several months passed, and the Inquisition was as industrious as it was before Corypheus was slain. Trevelyan ordered the rebuilding of shelters for those refugees displaced by the chaos, and also imparted assistance in constructing the new college formed by the free mages. For this, the Inquisition enjoyed unprecedented amount of goodwill from every corner of Thedas.

"You are a saint," Dorian told him, with an adoring sigh. "I would drop to my knees in worship, but we all know that might lead to something else and I would not embarrass you in front of polite company."

The institution also still had many enemies slithering among its holdings, and Dorian as much as anyone was only happy to help root them out. To a point, as he made clear when he declined to help address this most recent concern, particularly since it involved Venatori. His sudden reserve alarmed Trevelyan. He knew Dorian well enough to know that when he held back, something was troubling him deeply. Perhaps Dorian had merely prognosticated the torture the terrain had in store for them on this latest venture, but Trevelyan also feared what he had always feared- that the luster of his purpose - their purpose - was waning. That despite the friendships he had made, it would always be lonely at the top.

A frosty mountain breeze passed over his skin and through his quarters. The flutter of parchment pulled the Inquisitor from his thoughts. He pinpointed the sound as coming from his desk, where he spied a small note flapping like a moth stuck under a book. He hoisted himself up and crossed over to it. He rescued the squashed missive from under a copy of the Malefica Imperio and read its contents.

Amatus,

I hope that you will forgive me for my recent absence among your distinguished retinue, as your success was no doubt far less assured without my inestimable contribution to it. I can only imagine how terribly angry you must be, but if you can compose yourself enough to meet me in the tavern tonight after your debriefing, I just may allow you the privilege of admonishing me and my appalling behavior over a splash of brandy.

Should be delightful. Plus I just love the way Bull looks at us. Like someone just took a shit on his birthday cake.

Yours,  
>D<p>

Trevelyan smiled. No one could ask for a favor - no matter how mundane - the way Dorian could. This was clearly a practiced art he brought with him from Tevinter, but his determination and ardor made him all the more difficult to refuse. From the moment he proved his mettle in navigating Alexius' alternate timeline, Trevelyan thought nothing of granting Dorian's request to stay with the Inquisition. He then thought nothing, too, of giving his support and acceptance to Dorian after meeting his father - and confessing his attraction to other men.

Then there was the matter of his amulet. The thought of how desperate Dorian must have been to sell such a personal effect pained Trevelyan. Though handing some forgettable Orlesian merchant an undeserved stroke of fortune for a trinket would be laughable to him otherwise, he felt little remorse after seeing Dorian completely disarmed by the gesture. After the following night, there was nothing Dorian could name that Trevelyan would not give.

There was nothing he would not give. Tears stung at his eyes, and his face relaxed into melancholy. He crumpled the note in his palm. For being so elusive, Dorian had signaled this particular request to him quite plainly. Did he really believe for one moment that Dorian, of all people, would just forget about Tevinter? Did he think that after all he had done for him, that he could ever compete with the love Dorian felt for his homeland? Did he really want to forget about it, and thus forget part of what made Trevelyan love the cocky bastard so much?

He sighed, moving to the dresser to fetch his casual attire. Yes, he would give Dorian his honorable discharge from the Inquisition- even if it would require its Inquisitor to tear out and give away part of his spirit, all the while acting as though he were not bleeding out all over the ground.

* * *

><p>Trevelyan pushed lightly on the door to the tavern. The door swung open readily, though the bent metal of the latch scraped loudly against the splintered wood. Once he was satisfied that he was not furthering the damage that had been inflicted by Bull's impatient tangle with it, he entered the establishment and glanced around. He furrowed his brow when he did not immediately see Dorian, but instead observed The Iron Bull taking a facedown nap on the bar.<p>

The fault was the Inquisitor's, really. He was the one who planned their mission and had asked for Bull's assistance, knowing little about how exhausting the trip would be. He reached into his pocket an pulled out a small bag of gold coin. He walked over to the bartender, put the bag down and said, "This should cover your door, as well as my friend's drinks over there."

"You might wanna hold off on that. His tab's still open," the barkeep replied in his usual dispassionate baritone voice.

"Ah! Inquisitor! Fancy seeing you here," Dorian's voice called from the stairs. He descended them and approached Trevelyan, smiling. "Come! I'm ready for my tongue-lashing now."

The barkeep groaned as Trevelyan was led by the arm upstairs to where Dorian had been sitting, provided with two glasses of brandy.

"Dorian," Trevelyan said somberly. "You don't have to pretend like I don't know what this is about."

Dorian took his seat with a sigh. He raised his glass to his lips and said, "Remember when I told you that I think you are dull and that I hate you?" He sipped and exhaled.

"Oh, when was that?" Trevelyan said playfully. "Wasn't that the night we killed oh, what was his name? Some unholy darkspawn magister, I think. Details are fuzzy."

Dorian chuckled. "Gracious. I didn't think rubbing on someone would actually cause me to rub off, but there we have it."

Trevelyan smiled, but then said pointedly, "You also said that you hoped this ends soon."

Dorian stroked his glass, glancing downward and into the peach-colored pool within. "And you know I wasn't serious. Well, not completely." He then looked up at Trevelyan and said quietly, "About us, I am deadly serious. However," He took another sip. "However, I am also serious about what I feel is a calling from the depths of my twisted soul."

"Tevinter," Trevelyan said. He, too, then reached for his glass and took a drink.

Dorian sighed again. "I said it wouldn't be right away, that I would stay for a while, as if saying that made everything just peachy. I could pretend that my wretched outlook had not been utterly changed for the better since joining the Inquisition, and that Andraste had not granted me a blessing far beyond what I deserve when she guided me to you."

"Nonsense," Trevelyan said.

Dorian continued, "Yes, pretending as though I did not wish to return to Tevinter worked for a while, but only in the sense that pretending there was no hole in the sky might have worked for a while."

"You don't have to apologize for the way you feel," Trevelyan fought to speak without hesitation, but he could go no further. He greedily gulped down more brandy. He exhaled at the burning sensation.

"I've never seen anyone put away half a glass like that, but I think you speak for both of us," Dorian said.

"Dorian, tell me clearly. Why won't you allow me to come with you? That seems like an obvious solution, but you won't even consider it."

"Now you're going to make me repeat myself, I see. I'll forgive it as I know you don't listen so well when you see me naked in all my carefully-bred glory, so let me explain as there are several reasons: one, you've got your work cut out for you here. You would be shamefully neglecting all of the good you still have left to do if you indulged in a jaunt across Thedas. Two, you are too much of a celebrity, don't you know? _Everyone_ wants to be your friend. Even the blasted Qunari reached out to test the diplomatic waters with you. If I bring southern Thedas' great Inquisitor with me, I can guarantee that even my own countrymen would prefer to negotiate with the famous Inquisitor over me. _Especially_ over me, the ungrateful pariah! And that's if they let us in at all in order to avoid accidentally granting legitimacy to a barbarian Chantry. Lastly..."

"No, I think I've heard enough," Trevelyan said glumly.

Dorian regarded him, leaned in, then said, "Amatus, please believe that I would very much love to have you with me. It's just that I'm already such a nobody. I fear I would be even more so standing next to you, even in my own home. Such irony, yes? I used to revel in being an outcast, but now I desperately wish I had even a speck of your clout."

For the first time, Trevelyan started to feel annoyed with his companion. If there was one thing about Dorian that was decidedly not pretty, it was his self-loathing.

Trevelyan said, "Since you've been gracious enough to explain the circumstances to me, I hope you will allow me to clarify why all that you've said to me is bullshit. First of all, you are conveniently forgetting that Cullen and Josephine are fully capable of overseeing the Inquisition's continued work in my absence. And thanks to Leliana, we have inherited a communication network that can reach me in every corner of Thedas. Second, I don't need to accompany you as the Inquisitor. I can just as well assume a different identity, and my absence kept secret. People as far off as the Imperium would not have a clue about what I even look like. Hell, we even have recruits in our army who couldn't pick me out in a crowd."

"Except for my dear old dad," Dorian said.

"One person in all of Tevinter? Easy enough for me to avoid."

"Are you quite done?"

"No. You are not a nobody. Word of advice? Keep thinking about yourself like that, and you'll never help your country."

Dorian leaned back, expressionless like a statue, but masking a sudden fury. He then abruptly rose from the table, causing the glasses to clatter. "Excuse me, but I wish to retire. The brandy seems to be a bit strong tonight," Dorian more or less announced to the rest of the tavern. He then said to Trevelyan, "Maybe you ought to retire to your quarters after I leave?" Trevelyan nodded, downing the rest of the brandy as Dorian left in a hurry. He then got up and, though his mind was racing, he forced himself to walk on his way to join Dorian in the Inquisitor's quarters.


	2. Cloaks and Daggers

Trevelyan glided through the crowd that perpetually congregated in his court. They were always too distracted by the food, wine, and present company to pay much more than a requisite greeting to the Inquisitor as he passed by.

He entered the first door to his quarters and his mind continued to spin. He had been perhaps too harsh at the tavern. His experience in this matter was woefully lacking. He was not sure what to do. What did Dorian expect him to do? Usher him out and say thanks, hope to see you alive again someday, all without considering any alternatives? Perhaps that is what Dorian imagined, but if he expected the Inquisitor to simply yield without a fight, he was sorely mistaken.

He was ripped from his thoughts when he opened the second door to his chambers and felt himself pulled inside. The door slammed shut and Dorian pressed him against the it, crushing his lips against Trevelyan's. Trevelyan wrapped his arms around and pulled them even closer together.

"Won't save my country, huh? That's what you think?" Dorian growled when he came up for air. "I'm sorry I don't have a shiny magical mark to advertise my commitment to my word."

"Dorian," Trevelyan mumbled before Dorian silenced him with another ravenous kiss.

Dorian then pulled away and rasped, "Have I mentioned that I hate you?"

"I know," Trevelyan said, smiling.

"You know I can't stand it. I can't. You are the most astonishing and charming creature I have ever met, and for some ludicrous, godforsaken reason I want to leave as much as I want to stay with you until the end of my days."

"Dorian, it's okay. I want to apologize. Despite what I said at the tavern, I don't believe for a moment that what you want to achieve is ludicrous. On the contrary, I admire you all the more for it," Trevelyan said. "I also believe that if there was any person to do it, it's you." He gently placed a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Besides, if I did in fact do some part in inspiring you, then would you really want to call it godforsaken?"

"'Some' part? You are every part of why I need to do this."

Trevelyan kissed him again, more gently this time. He then pulled back and said, "Why don't you at least consider letting me accompany you? You haven't yet said I was wrong about that."

"Hence my blinding hatred," Dorian said. "Come, while your stairwell is impressive, it is far too musty to continue with this discussion comfortably."

"I'm glad there are some things here that I can still consider mine," Trevelyan said as he followed Dorian up.

"Are you serious? Maker knows I can barely stand to be in the same room as those drapes, and the bed! I nearly tossed a fireball at the canopy while we were making love."

"And singed off my backside?"

"Nothing satisfies quite like a purge by fire."

Dorian took a seat on the same awful bed, with Trevelyan joining him.

"You said some interesting things tonight, and in truth I cannot say that I am not at least somewhat open to suggestion. Especially the part where you are _not_ the Inquisitor. That is intriguing," Dorian said, rubbing his chin.

"I'll admit it is a risky idea, but I promise you I would never get in the way."

"But that's a problem, isn't it? I mean, who would you be instead? An Orlesian mogul trying to foster connections abroad by investing in a disgraced Tevinter altus? No one would believe that. Or maybe a Fereldan refugee I tripped over on the road and decided to take in like a stray animal? No one would believe that, either. Besides, it's not exactly a secret that we are more than friends. Dorian returning to Tevinter with his "mysterious" companion? Everyone would know who you are based on that alone."

"That is a problem," Trevelyan admitted.

"You see? This is nothing but fancy." Trevelyan then regarded Dorian with a knitted brow, deep in thought. "Shit," Dorian said. "I usually adore that look but tonight I despise it. You better say something clever, or I'll tell everyone that you like to cheat at chess."

"Let's break up," Trevelyan said.

Dorian flinched as though he had slapped him. "Break up? Why would you say..." Realization struck him. "Devious. Cunning. Wily. Pillows, dirt, and perhaps a spell or two will fly. We can't be too dramatic, though. There needs to be a kernel of truth at the center of it."

"I am, truthfully, upset that you can only criticize my castle," Trevelyan said, glancing at the bed and drapes.

"Good try, but your bad taste is no reason to throw me out," Dorian said. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. Excitedly he said, "I've got it! One word: betrayal. What else could send you into enough of an emotional frenzy to cast me out as persona non grata, while simultaneously garnering everyone's silent sympathy towards you? I'm good at being cast out, after all. Always play to your strengths, I say."

"What kind of betrayal are we talking about?" Trevelyan asked.

"Why, the most potent of all. Betrayal of the heart! Really, what other kind could I be referring to?"

"I guess I was just hoping that wasn't it."

Dorian continued as though he weren't listening. "We would just need to find some clever enough or stupid enough to have come between us. I'm sure I could seduce anyone if I put my mind to it, but I'd hate to waste time."

Trevelyan listened and sighed.

"Oh, Maker, of course! Bull would do it at the drop of a hat."

"He would know something was up before you could say 'taasidath-an halsaam'."

"Bless you. And yes, I realize that, which is why we might consider telling him our plan."

"There's got to be someone else."

"Come on, I can't be the only one who has wondered about the ordnance you _know_ he's packing. I could tell you all about it on the way to Tevinter."

Trevelyan sighed again and shifted uncomfortably.

Dorian said, "You're not getting cold feet, are you? I understand. In that case, I can make ready to leave for Tevinter at once."

"That's cruel," Trevelyan said.

"Cruel?" Dorian shot to his feet and faced the Inquisitor. He said, "This was your idea. If you truly wish to accompany me, then I better not get the feeling that you are not fully committed to making this work. If you set this scheme up and then lose your nerve, I dare you, I would fucking dare you to call me cruel."

"Dorian," Trevelyan said, stunned by the outburst. "I am committed. I'm just disappointed to see how committed you are to actually betraying me."

Dorian's turn to sigh. He moved to straddle Trevelyan, running his hands over his chest. He said coyly, "My, possessive are we? I had no idea. Well, we only need the appearance of cheating I suppose. Shame we'll just have to continue placing bets our bets on his exact payload. Maybe when this is all done we arrange a group thing that I hear is popular in the south."

"Right, you _heard_," Trevelyan said.

Dorian smiled and leaned in to kiss him. "We'll set this all up with Bull tomorrow. Wouldn't Leliana be so proud of us?"

"Chances are she'll have heard about it by now and will let us know."

"Then in the meantime, let's keep ourselves occupied. Idle hands, etcetera," Dorian said while his hands wandered his lover's torso.

When those hands then descended, Trevelyan moaned and said, "Like hell I cheat at chess."


	3. No Bull

The Iron Bull leaned forward in his seat. He brought his fingertips to his forehead, his hands framing his face. He said, "This is a dream, right? I'm going to wake up, have a good laugh, and then go spar with Krem to forget about it."

"Afraid not. So, what do you say?" Dorian said, crossing his arms.

Bull brought his hands down and looked over to the Inquisitor. Trevelyan felt the knot in his stomach wrenching him. "We're only asking you as friends, Bull," Trevelyan said. "Just as a favor, not as an order."

"So you think that just because I don't have your typical human hang-ups about sex, I would have no problem being the other man in a staged affair?"

"That's not it," Trevelyan said. The knot tightened. So much hinged on Bull's cooperation. "We just feel that you are the most trustworthy person we could ask for help with this."

"Gee, I'm flattered. Really," Bull said.

"Oh, don't make us grovel. Wouldn't you like to send me back to where I came from? This is your chance to make that happen," Dorian said.

"Hey, I'm not just being stubborn, here. You're asking me to look like either an idiot at best, or an asshole at worst."

"This is about your reputation?" Dorian asked incredulously.

"Be the guy who doesn't care about hurting someone else, even if it's the Inquisitor, so long as he can get his rocks off. I may not have hang-ups about sex, but I do have standards for my behavior."

"Bull, we would make sure you were blameless," Trevelyan said. "We won't paint you as some lustful, careless beast, but only as an unwitting party caught in the middle."

"So I would play the idiot, then," Bull said.

Trevelyan sighed. The corner of Bull's lips curved up in a half smile, and he said, "Boss, I've got to tell you, and take this from a former Ben-Hassrath. Don't let more people in on your scheme than absolutely necessary. The more people involved, the greater the chances it will all blow up in your face. You should have kept me none the wiser about all of this and just had the Vint seduce me."

"You really think we could have put one over on you, the Ben-Hassrath spy?" Dorian said.

"Good point," Bull said.

"We didn't want to use you, Bull, either," Trevelyan said. "We respect you more than that."

"I respect you, too, Boss. And yes, even you, Dorian," Bull said. He shook his head. "Because I respect you both is why I have to tell you to give up on this idea. Neither of you have the instincts nor experience to maintain the ruse. Nevermind this whole rigged affair business, you have no idea what or who you will encounter in the Imperium, and it would be a political disaster if you were discovered, Inquisitor. This is a fantasy that a child or Varric might contrive, not the leader of the most powerful force in southern Thedas."

A sharp rap at the door caused all three to flinch and turn towards the sound. "Excuse me?" Josephine's voice called.

"Yes," Trevelyan answered.

Josephine entered and said, "Your worship, I don't mean to rush you out, but are you almost finished with your conference? I have a delegation scheduled to arrive within the hour and I will require my office in order to receive them."

"I believe we were just wrapping things up," Dorian said. Trevelyan glanced over to see Dorian staring daggers at Bull.

Bull rose from his chair and moved to the exit saying, "Sorry, Boss."

"Thank you for allowing us to borrow your office," Trevelyan said to Josephine. He was happy for a pause before having to deal with the storm he felt brewing next to him, however briefly.

"Your grace," she replied with a slight bow of her head.

"Let's go," Trevelyan said softly, touching his fingertips to Dorian's elbow.

"Indeed," Dorian spat, pulling his elbow away before departing the office.

Trevelyan sighed, looking over to Josephine who returned him a look of sympathy. "Best of luck," she said.

"Yeah," he replied, and showed himself out.


	4. Snap

Trevelyan exited Josephine's office and reflexively turned left towards his quarters. He paused, though, to glance down the main hall. He spied Dorian's retreating form among the crowd of visitors and patrons. Dorian did not turn left to go to his usual place in the study, but instead out towards the courtyard. Trevelyan's heart jumped to his throat when a terrible feeling struck him- that Dorian wasn't retreating so much as _chasing_. Trevelyan broke into a jog towards the courtyard, hoping to stop whatever madness Dorian was about to commit.

"You loathesome animal!" Dorian called from the courtyard steps. The ambient noise of conversation ceased as nobles, peasants, and soldiers alike turned their attention to the commotion. Trevelyan heard it, too, and his blood ran cold.

"Like you're the first Vint to call me that," Iron Bull called back from the bottom of the steps. He did not even turn around as he kept pace toward the tavern.

"Fuck you!" Dorian yelled.

"Yeah, yeah," Bull responded.

"Dorian, stop!" Trevelyan said, cuffing a hand on Dorian's shoulder from behind.

"That's it? You're just going to let him stroll away? What's wrong with pulling rank for once and ordering him to do what we want?" Dorian said, turning to face Trevelyan.

"Lower your voice, please," Trevelyan pleaded.

Dorian chose not to heed him and in a fury said, "Oh, or perhaps instead you'll order _me_? Perfect! Just perfect!"

"I'm not ordering anyone, but I am asking that you get a hold of yourself."

"Get a hold of,-! This was your nug-brained idea, wasn't it? Yes, let's stage an affair and embarrass ourselves publicly so that we might then skip off to the Imperium as if it were a honeymoon. Beautiful beaches this time of year!"

Trevelyan could not believe his ears. "And you just decided, on your own, to skip all the work and just go straight to the embarrassing us publicly part, I see?" Trevelyan shouted back, letting go of his temper. "You just can't control yourself when there is a spectacle to be made!"

"Father? Is that you? Oh, a thousand pardons, great Herald! I didn't recognize you for a moment. You know, megalomaniacal fascinations aren't the only thing you need worry about when dating a Tevene. We do love to blow things up spectacularly, whether it's the entire world or one's own reputation. Even you aren't immune."

"What in Maker's name is going on?" Cullen said. He swiftly ascended the front steps to stand between Trevelyan and Dorian. "I heard you two yelling all the way from my tower. Show some order or I'll have break you two up!"

"You hear that? Break us up! Splendid idea, Commander!" Dorian said, eyes widening.

"Don't do this, Dorian," Trevelyan said quietly, as much out of respect for Cullen as for what he dreaded what was coming.

"Do what? Tell you that I'm fed up with wasting my time? That I am sick of living - no, _withering_ - in your shadow? That the cold walls, the cold air, and the cold food makes me deliriously homesick?"

Stunned, Cullen looked over to Trevelyan, who now possessed a unnervingly deadpan expression.

"Then, Dorian Pavus, you have my permission to leave," Trevelyan said coldly. "You are hereby discharged from service to the Inquisition." He turned to Cullen and said, "Please ensure that he is given a horse and some supplies for the road."

"Inquisitor," Cullen said in disbelief.

"Don't bother. I don't accept charity," Dorian spat with a wave of his hand. He moved to leave, but then stopped next to Trevelyan and said, "I will be gone by dawn tomorrow morning. Give my best to the others."

Trevelyan heard the door to the library slam shut behind him. The murmurs of damning gossip rose up and supplanted the dead silence. He raised a hand to cover his eyes.

Cullen placed a hand on Trevelyan's shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Trevelyan dropped his arm and said, "Not one bit."

"I'll get Josephine to talk to him. This kind of thing is her job after all."

"No, leave him be," Trevelyan said. "This is for the best."


	5. The One Who Will Live On

Dorian made good on his word. There had been no trace of him in Skyhold by morning. All of the books in his corner of the library were shelved and reordered neatly, removing any sign of the scholarly mind who created his nest there.

Trevelyan sighed as he reached out to touch the books. He brushed his fingertips along the spine of one, feeling over its deep cracks. He then moved past the shelves into the alcove, and over to the crimson armchair basking by the window. He had not realized how much room there was here. The armchair had been fortified among a bulwark of stacked books. No more. Even the lute was missing. He had no idea it belonged to Dorian.

He tried on the chair. The wood creaked under his weight, but it was comfortable. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He rubbed a hand over his face. Since the time he had awoken that morning and confirmed Dorian's absence, he felt as though he were in a daze. The world only vaguely existed around him as his mind worked over exactly what in Maker's name had happened.

Where did he misstep? What could he have said? What if he had ordered Bull to do what they wanted? Each question picked and fretted a painful knot in his chest, yet he could not stop.

He studied the creases and dents in the stone under feet. The activity was oddly soothing.

"Something troubles you, your worship," a gentle voice said to him. Trevelyan looked up with a half-hearted smile at Mother Giselle.

"I'll be all right," Trevelyan said, leaning back into the cushions.

Mother Giselle collected a chair from the table outside of the alcove, placed it in front of him, and took a seat. "Fear and doubt challenge our faith, but nothing hobbles it quite like heartbreak," she said.

"What?" Trevelyan said.

"The only cure is time."

"Mother, I-...you had warned me."

She smiled. "No, I was the one who was wrong about the young man. We had many - spirited - debates on the matter of his origin and his loyalties, and while we did not always agree, I learned that there is nothing false about him and his passion. More importantly, his fire warmed you, and invigorated your dedication to which we owe our lives."

Trevelyan did not reply, but instead felt his vague sense of despair become suddenly overwhelming. The knot inside wrenched him. He shut his eyes and turned away.

"While we cannot soothe your pain, you must know that I am not the only one who understands it. Your people, from your foot soldiers to our clerics, sympathize with what you are going through. As you can imagine, most have endured their own tale of grief, and it has inspired their compassion. They identify more strongly with you because of it," she said.

"Yet I have heard nothing but mockery in the halls and garden. At least, when the rumormongers believe I am out of earshot."

"These are men and women who have nothing better to do. Go outside your halls and listen carefully. If there was mockery to be heard among the common and faithful, it has been drowned in a tidal wave of sympathy and support."

This time, Trevelyan managed a true smile. "Thank you, Mother," he said.

Mother Giselle stood, and he stood as well in respect for her. She said, "I will pray for Dorian. I was surprised when he told me he was Andrastrian! Perhaps he would be served better if she also heard your prayers from time to time."

"I don't believe much in prayer, but if it helps, I'll try it."

Mother Giselle smiled. "You may find it helps you most of all."

* * *

><p>The doors of the war room clanged shut behind Trevelyan. With mercy, Cullen suggested that the Inquisitor have a break from the day's planning when his disinterest in the proceedings grew painfully evident. Josephine concurred, reassuring him that news broke of a scandal in the Orlesian court which all but wiped away yesterday's incident in the minds of their patrons- and that she had absolutely nothing to do with the timing, if anyone asks.<p>

Trevelyan regretted his emotional absence and that it affected his leadership. He assured himself that this was only a postponement and that he just needed to clear his head. He thought of Mother Giselle's words.

He jogged down the steps from the main hall to the courtyard. He slowed to a leisurely pace, and decided his first stop would naturally be the tavern. He nodded and said hello to the off-duty soldiers who in turn acknowledged him, but mostly focused on teasing out any intelligible bits of chatter being batted around.

He was blindsided when a soldier jumped to his feet and cried out, "Your worship!"

"Yes?" Trevelyan said as he turned to the soldier.

The soldier saluted clumsily and said, "Your worship, I got back last night so I only 'eard about what happened, but if you need someone to hunt down that son of a darkspawn, I'm your man."

"Yeah!" several soldiers called out.

"What's your name?" Trevelyan asked.

"Oh, uh, Corporal Lingon, sir, at your service!"

Trevelyan smiled. "At ease, corporal. I don't think that will be necessary, but thank you for your enthusiasm. Dismissed."

"Sir!" Lingon said.

Trevelyan decided he would try to at least get to the bar before resuming his research. He tested the tavern door again with a light push, but was then pleased to notice that the latch and the jamb had been replaced. The latch turned smoothly and no longer hitched, too. Sometimes you just have to break something before it gets fixed, Trevelyan thought.

"Cabot," Trevelyan greeted as he approached the bar.

"What'll it be?" Cabot asked, leaning against the bar.

"I don't know, an ale?" Trevelyan said.

"Sure you don't want something stronger?" Cabot glanced up and looked behind Trevelyan. Trevelyan twisted around to follow, and was stunned to see a small crowd standing behind him, with Corporal Lingon front and center.

"There was something else, corporal?" Trevelyan asked.

"Yeah! We all just wanna say that you've been there for us, from the moment the sky exploded, to Haven, to Skyhold, and when you brought down that Corypheus bastard. It's about time we be there for you. We'll be raising our cups and our voices to you tonight. Maryden!"

On cue, Maryden began strumming and singing I Am The One. Corporal Lingon and the crowd joined in, filling the space with a cacophony of drunken singing. Lingon slapped Trevelyan on the shoulder and laughed.

A tear escaped Trevelyan's eye. He then began to giggle. Then laugh. Tears streamed feely when his laughter became indistinguishable from sobs.

Still "laughing", Trevelyan swiftly spun back around to face Cabot.

"Shit, and I just wiped he bar," Cabot said, tossing Trevelyan a clean rag. "Let me fetch you that ale. I think you'll like this one."

Trevelyan wiped his face liberally, then pressed it against eyes. He exhaled sharply, straining against having a full breakdown.

He felt a heavy figure take a seat on a stool next to him. "S-sir!" Trevelyan heard Lingon say nervously. He pulled the rag away to see Lingon replaced by The Iron Bull.

"Look at that. This. This is what makes you the best boss who ever bossed, Boss. Yet you still look like you've been kicked in the guts by a mule."

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly what happened, though this mule had nicer hair," Trevelyan said. Cabot dropped off the mug of ale and Trevelyan took a sip.

"Heh," Bull said. "Trust me, I know. Seems like as the more they breed for magical ability, the more stubborn they get."

"That's saying something coming from The Iron Bull."

Bull smiled. "Listen, Boss. I wanted to say that I'm sorry for whatever role I had in causing this. We all care about him, but you cared about him the most."

"Not to worry, Bull. I don't blame you one bit. Our plan was rubbish the more I think about it, so I'm glad you were honest."

"Happy to hear that," Bull said. He then glanced to his side, leaned in and said, "There's something else I need to tell you, though." Trevelyan leaned in to listen. "Not here," Bull said and pointed upwards.

Trevelyan nodded, then took a few more swallows of ale. Bull tossed a several coins on the bar and headed toward the stairs. Trevelyan followed a few moments later, travelling all the way up to the third floor. Bull then led him out through the exit to the inside of the connecting tower.

Bull turned around to face Trevelyan and said, "I have an associate who is wanting to meet with you. Tonight."

"An associate? Who are they, and what do they want?" Trevelyan asked.

"All they would tell me is that they have a lead on a Venatori plot to strike back at you by infiltrating Ostwick."

"_What!_" Trevelyan said with alarm.

"Yeah, which is why I think you should meet with them. Because of their line of work, they said they will not be seen in Skyhold. If you want to meet them, you'll find them in the dilapidated hut along the road leading here. You've seen it a thousand times. And to come alone."

"You still haven't told me who they were. How do we know this is not a trap?"

"I'd trust this associate with my life. They've saved my skin higher than I can count. He's a valuable comrade and I want to maintain his trust, so I'm sorry I can't give you more information than that."

"I suppose that's understandable. If he or she has you to vouch for them like that, then I should be glad to meet them."

"After dark. Hut along the road."

"Got it."

Bull chuckled to himself and walked past Trevelyan back into the tavern. "Come on. Let's get back to the party!" he said over his shoulder.


	6. En Passant

The way to Skyhold was far more unnerving when travelling alone and at night, Trevelyan noted. Icy gusts threatened to snuff his torch at every step, and shadows danced wickedly over the unending snow. Distant packs of wolves barked incessantly to the point of madness. The state of his toes made him wish he brought a horse, but at the time he was unwilling to risk a run-in with Blackwall, no matter how well-meaning his friend's questions might have been.

Fortunately, the hut was by no means a long distance, residing at the bottom of the slope after the bend connecting to the Skyhold bridge. Trevelyan held a fanciful curiosity about the hut since he had first noticed it. He wondered how and why such a small, two-room dwelling could have been constructed in such a remote place. He imagined it as many things: a base for Ferelden explorers? A construction office? Or perhaps a hermit had simply found the spot suitable enough for a life of quiet solitude?

Whatever purpose the dwelling had served in the past, it was not more than a mangled pile of wooden boards, splinters, and soot in the present. The roof and a corner had caved in, and its remaining walls were scorched black- evidence of its eventual fate.

Trevelyan scanned the surroundings as well as he could in the torchlight. He then crouched slowly, and in careful silence he planted his torch in the thick snow. He drew his daggers as a precaution, with every shadow, every sound under scrutiny.

With soft steps, he approached the side of one of the standing walls. The wall blocked his sight, and so he prepared himself to engage whoever - or whatever - he expected to be lurking beyond it.

A loud whisper from behind startled him out of his skin. "Who are we sneaking up on?"

Trevelyan made no move. Was that the voice of a demon trying to trick him?

"Don't mind me," the voice said in a normal tone. "I love sitting back and watching you slice some pitiable chap to ribbons. It's become a pastime of mine."

Trevelyan squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief.

The voice continued, "They must be a vile sort if it's worth suffering in this blasted cold."

"Unfortunately, it seems a demon stole the element of surprise," Trevelyan replied. He stood up and sheathed his daggers.

"A demon? You wound me, amatus."

"Dorian, what are you doing here?" Trevelyan asked, turning around.

"What am I doing here? Wait," Dorian said, squinting. "Are you actually surprised? What in Maker's name did Bull tell you?"

Trevelyan's brow knitted with confusion. "Bull sent me to meet an associate who had information on a Venatori plot to take my family hostage."

"You didn't have the foggiest suspicion about this 'associate'? Oh dear, it's a good thing you have the friends you do. You'll have to work very hard to salvage my opinion of you now."

"And what of my opinion of you?"

"What of it? Oh, right." His face fell. "I did say all kinds of horrid things," he said. He cleared his throat, then reached out to take Trevelyan's gloved hand. "I assure you, my words were undoubtedly as painful to deliver as I know they were to receive."

"Your words were one thing, but you deceived me," Trevelyan said, pulling his hand away and narrowing his gaze.

Dorian held his hands up. He said pointedly, "I don't wish to become that pitiable chap, so permit me to end the deception then and tell you the truth. I'm still done with the Inquisition, either way."

Trevelyan crossed his arms, waiting for Dorian to proceed.

"Yes, I did take it upon myself to consult Bull while arranging our meeting with him. I wanted to hear his honest opinion to make sure we weren't committing ourselves to something monstrously stupid. Turns out monstrously stupid wasn't the half of it. His candor was eviscerating, as you can imagine. However, I think I inspired something resembling pity in him, because he then suggested an alternative. The plan was simpler to execute with better results- I get kicked out of the Inquisition, and you now have an excellent cover if you still care for some adventure." Dorian sighed. "The price, of course, being that you to become the pawn and not the player."

Dorian drew closer and rested a hand on Trevelyan's waist. He said softly, "Which I am dreadfully sorry for, but if it meant going home with my best friend at my back, then I was willing to play the insufferable ass. Easy enough for me, no?"

"And I'm just too dim-witted to play my part, is that it?" Trevelyan said.

"No!" Dorian vigorously shook his head. "Maker knows I wanted to tell you, but Bull was emphatic that your part be real. Your reaction needed to be genuine and unprepared or else it would look exactly like what it was: staged."

Trevelyan relaxed. He unfolded his arms and put a hand over Dorian's resting on his waist.

"I take it you understand. Don't worry, I intend to make it up to you," Dorian said.

"I'll hold you to that," Trevelyan said matter-of-factly. Dorian smiled. He lifted his other hand to cup the back of Trevelyan's head and pull him in to a deep kiss.

Dorian pulled away and said, "I've been itching to do that all day." He then stepped back and said, "Although really, you should blame this on Bull. The man is scheming made flesh, and he's got a lot of that."

"I should exact your punishment on him, then?" Trevelyan said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not a chance. He is a treasure, but perhaps we should just bring him back a souvenir."

"About that," Trevelyan said. "What is the plan exactly?"

"Simple. You say you're going home. Say you want to check in on the family. You should take some personal time. You've been through so much after all. I, on the other hand, will be going on ahead."

"I take it I would meet you in Ostwick? That's not a very good idea."

"I'm quite used to being in hostile territory, but thank you for your concern."

"I'm not nearly as concerned about that as I am about being recognized by someone who knows me or my family, including those of the Order and the Chantry."

"That danger might exist within the walls, but the risk is considerably lessened among the peasantry outside. I have very good experience. Just come up with some uninspiring rags and you'll be invisible. Shame Solas isn't still around for good reference."

"I don't think so, Dorian. It's too much of a risk."

"Nonsense. My presence will undoubtedly draw any undue attention away from you. We don't even have to speak with one another until we leave the city behind."

Trevelyan chewed his lip. "We stay no more than one night."

"Oh, I agree. In truth, I want to see your home. I'd be thrilled to see how you barbarians have carved out your homes in the fine Tevinter architecture."

"Suit yourself," Trevelyan said, smiling, then moved to fetch his torch.


	7. The Waking Rubicon

**Author:** I should note here that for the purposes of this story, I have the Inquisition sided with the mages. In addition, the mage college has not yet been officially formed.

Thank you for reading this far!

* * *

><p>If there was one constant on Thedas, it was the salty gloom of the Storm Coast: sea spray whipped the face tirelessly, a barrier of perpetual fog diffused any sunlight, and gusts threatened to tear the clothes right off your back.<p>

Trevelyan supposed it followed, then, that the terrain match the chaotic atmosphere. Although technically a "road" in that it was a path cut through the jagged hills, there existed beneath him and his horse only a mishmash of inclines, boulders, and muddy pools. He lost count of how many times he tugged on the reigns of his mount to allow the animal to catch its breath.

"Stop," he said aloud, raising a hand. He patted his horse's neck. "Let them take a break."

"Sir!" Corporal Lingon brought up the rear on his mount. He stopped short, and the raven packed in a cage behind his saddle squawked as it jumbled. He swiveled around sharply to check the canoe in tow, on rollers, as it shuddered noisily to a halt. The horse whinnied and stamped, causing Lingon to whip back around to shush the beast.

"You holding up okay?" Trevelyan asked.

"Absolutely!" Lingon answered with full confidence. Trevelyan smiled weakly. He thought he was rewarding Lingon by giving him this assignment, and judging by his resulting boisterousness at Skyhold, the corporal seemed to agree. Trevelyan marveled at the corporal for his unflagging cheer throughout their journey along the Imperial Highway. Charming as though he was, Lingon's comical wrangling made Trevelyan wonder if perhaps he had asked too much of him.

He especially regretted Lingon's struggles, for Trevelyan turned down any assistance from his officers with the Inquisition outfit stationed in the Storm Coast, with exception of the requested canoe.

_"That's very good, sir, but you can't embark here. Water's too choppy for small craft. We have scout's reports that say conditions are better here," the officer said, pointing to the spot on their regional map. "From there it's about a half hour row to Kirkwall, conditions permitting. We can spare a few soldiers to assist you, if you like," she added._

_"Don't trouble yourselves. Have the raft hitched to one of the horses and we'll take it from here," Trevelyan replied._

_The Storm Coast soldiers glanced at each other in puzzlement. The officer said, "As you say, Inquisitor."_

Trevelyan struggled to supress an acute sense of paranoia. He stood at the point of no return. Visceral understanding finally caught up with the cerebral understanding of his actions leading to this point. Pangs of doubt wracked him when he mulled over his meeting with the Commander and the Ambassador.

_"You're returning home?" Josephine said._

_Trevelyan replied, "I feel confident that the Inquisition is at a place where it can run without my direct input for a few months."_

_"A few months?" Cullen said. "How much is there to do in Ostwick?"_

_"That's none of our business," Josephine cut in. "The request is not such a surprise considering recent events, besides- the end of the world is no longer a pressing concern."_

_"I suppose that's true," he said, shifting his weight and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "But with all due respect, I will be the one dealing with the consequences to morale should your absence be noticed by our troops."_

_"I will be more than happy to trade places with you if you think it will be easier to deal with our allies and benefactors," she rejoined._

_Cullen huffed in amusement. "Point taken."_

_Do or die, Trevelyan thought. He said, "I'm sorry. I admit, I never thought much of home when I left it, but when I think about all that's happened and what we have accomplished, I find myself thinking about now it all the time. I understand, however, if my absence would create too much trouble for you two."_

_Josephine looked him over with sympathy in her eyes. "No, I think it can be arranged. How long were you planning on being away exactly?"_

_"Adding in travel time, I should like to spend at least three to four months, depending on how much fawning and socializing I'll have to endure."_

_"Ah, such is the trying life of a celebrity among nobles," Cullen said, smiling. "Be sure to give my regards to the Order there. I bet they could use some reassurance. Let them know there are still a few uncorrupted templars left in southern Thedas."_

_"Certainly I will," Trevelyan said hoarsely. He felt his throat turn to sandpaper. Lying to the Commander pained him dearly. He cleared his throat and said, "So you are okay with this?"_

_"Am I okay? I'll have to be," Cullen said._

_Trevelyan swallowed hard. "I will send a raven to let you know of my safe arrival in Ostwick, but I must respectfully request that I be left alone unless in dire emergency. I trust you two, and you have my backing for whatever decisions you need to make."_

_"I will pick some of our finest soldiers to make sure you do arrive safely. I'll not have pirates or rebel mages molest you on your journey."_

_"That won't be necessary, Commander. I already have someone in mind to help me."_

_"Oh? Who?"_

_"A corporal by the name of Lingon."_

_"One corporal? That's all?" Cullen said incredulously._

_"I don't mean to belittle your judgment, Commander. I wish to avoid drawing the whole of Ferelden's attention to myself by travelling with a convoy of armored guards. That would only guarantee harassment. I prefer to keep my travels a secret."_

_Cullen was unreadable, which unnerved Trevelyan. Nonetheless, he continued, "Now Lingon. He did a good deed for me yesterday, and seems to be a fine lad, so I'd like to offer him the chance to prove himself in the field."_

_Cullen then furrowed his brow and studied the Inquisitor, but said nothing._

_"We understand, and you needn't worry. We will do our best," Josephine said. "We need you at your best- your mental, emotional, physical best. I hope the sea air is good for your humors."_

_Both Josephine and the Inquisitor looked to Cullen for his final input. With his expression remaining stern, he said, "As you say, Inquisitor."_

_"Thank you. Both of you," Trevelyan said. "I leave tomorrow at daybreak."_

Though doubt clawed at his spirit, the thrill of the unknown across the sea kept Trevelyan feeling buoyant. Moreso, for he would not be alone.

He reached behind him and extracted his map from his belt. "We aren't much farther," Trevelyan said, examining the map.

"Maker be merciful. Pardon my saying so, and I don't know any better words, but I never knew a place that was so fucking miserable," Lingon said.

Trevelyan imagined Cullen would prefer he admonish the lad, but instead he chuckled and said, "The Storm Coast in a nutshell!"


	8. Shadow

Corporal Lingon cut the ropes with a hatchet, and the canoe slid away from the horse toward the water. He and Trevelyan caught it, and together they hoisted the craft up from the rollers and onto the gravel beach in one swift movement.

"I'll be the first in my family to leave Ferelden. Our farm was everything to me until the Breach. I just couldn't keep pickin' turnips and feedin' chickens while feeling that thing bear down on us," Lingon said as he pulled away the leftover rope.

Trevelyan pressed his lips together, then said, "About that, corporal. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer to see more of Thedas. I want you to send the raven, then return to Skyhold when I cast off."

Lingon shook his head. "But, sir, my orders were to see you all the way to Ostwick. The Commander would hang me from the battlements if he knew I left you here!"

"That won't happen," Trevelyan replied. He moved to the other side of the canoe to stand next to him. He said, "You can tell him that I'm going to ensure you are promoted when I return, if you will do this for me." He held out his hand for the coil of rope in Lingon's hand.

With a deep frown, the corporal placed the rope in Trevelyan's hand. "What if he don't believe me? You might very well be promotin' a corpse," he said.

Trevelyan sighed. "I'll add the order to the raven's message with my signature." He then looked up and scanned the surroundings. "If I can find a spot to write."

Trevelyan approached his horse and slung the damp rope over its rump. He then walked to the raven's cage on Lingon's mount to fetch the small canister hidden along one of the wooden bars.

"There's got to be a dry cave or something," he said.

"Sir, what about spiders?" Lingon asked nervously.

Trevelyan dropped his chin. "What about me?" The question seemed to satisfy the corporal considerably. "Watch the horses. I'll return soon."

Lingon nodded and Trevelyan set off to look for a shelter in the rocky bluffs along the shore. He pulled his everknit robes tighter to him, and pulled down the hood to try and block the bitter winds that swept the shore. He shivered when the cold salt water seeped into his ram skin shoes.

Relief from the elements took the form of a tiny fisherman's cabin perched high upon the endless wall of rock. The structure was well camouflaged by overgrowth, but the straight edges of a door and window contrasted with its surroundings well enough. That would have to do, Trevelyan thought. A steep, slippery path showed him the way up the side of the tall bluff.

The ascent was brutal. When he reached the top, he trudged over to the cabin, placed a hand on the side of the structure, and stopped for a moment to catch his breath.

A voice jolted him: "Who's there!"

Trevelyan did not immediately reply. He slowly moved to peek inside the open window, then said, "Excuse me, I thought this place was abandoned. I mean you no harm."

A frightened yelp replied to him, and he could only just make out the origin: an emaciated woman, elfish, with matted hair only partially tied back by a strip of rawhide. The inside was shaded, with not even a candle lit, and the ambient lighting made her appear like a relief carving on a gravestone.

Trevelyan showed her his empty hands - wrapped in linen and gloved in order to hide his mark - to emphasize his statement. He said, "I'm just looking for a dry place to finish writing a message. Give me a few seconds and I will be on my way."

The woman shuddered in terror and in a shrill tone asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Treywick." He thought of this name as a precaution against situations like these. "I am simply a traveler trying to make his way back home."

"Where's home?" the woman demanded.

"Free Marches. Listen, I can just move on, clearly I have disturbed you and I apologize."

"Hold, you said the Free Marches?" Her tone shifted suddenly and she approached the window.

"That's right," he replied, putting his hands down.

"My boy lives there. What part?"

"Ostwick."

She blanched. She ran to the door and with a forceful tug she opened it, the door scraping the tangle of grass and vines that carpeted the dwelling.

"Are you from there?" he asked, putting his hands down. He moved to the entrance, but she blocked the way inside. An odd odor wafted into his nostrils. Something like fermented eggs.

"Oh, I used to," she said. He noticed she had a mild facial tic when she spoke. "I moved here, though, to escape the rebellion."

"Are you a mage?"

"No, but my son is. I sure would like to go back to check on him."

He recognized the look in her eyes. He said, "I cannot take you with me."

"Oh, please! It was a mistake for me to come here. My money's been stolen and I've lost all my possessions!"

"No, I can't be responsible for you."

"Then I won't let you inside!" she spat.

Trevelyan wondered how she had not been captured by slavers or slain by bandits already. He found her a pitiable sight as she scowled at him like an angry mabari hound.

However, there was no other option that would not injure her or his self-respect. "I can take you as far as the outskirts of Kirkwall. From there, you're on your own," he said.

Her scowl transformed immediately into delight. She said, "Then come in! Come in!" and stepped aside.

"Thank you, um?" Trevelyan said.

"Amidell!" she answered.

He ducked into tiny cabin, the ceiling of which was only inches clear of his head. He reached to his belt to extract the message container and a vial of ink. Searching the room, he realized that it was entirely devoid of furniture. He looked over to Amidell, who returned an expectant stare. Sighing, he extracted the small parchment from the message container and approached the back wall- where at least the surface was only mildly damp instead of soaking wet.

"Come," Trevelyan asked of Amidell. She approached, and he handed her the vial of ink. "Hold that," he said.

She accepted it with both hands, and he pried off the stopper. He then pulled a small quill from his belt carefully dipped the quill into the ink.

When he finished amending the message, he blew on the wet ink. He exhaled in relief when the ink soaked evenly into the parchment. He rolled the message back up and replaced it into its container.

"Thanks again," he said, relieving her of the vial. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes!" she said excitedly. However, as soon as she set foot out the door, she said "Wait, no!" She then gathered up her tattered dress and bolted away. Baffled, Trevelyan followed and watched her disappear behind the cabin.

He waited a few seconds. He wondered if she was too flaky to remember his side of their bargain.

"I thought you didn't have any possessions," he said to her when, to his disappointment, she came back around with a heavy pouch.

"I almost forgot!" she said. "Your pots and boxes and sticks reminded me!"

She did not elaborate, and the way she clutched the pouch very possessively to her discouraged Trevelyan from inquiring further.

Though the descent was easier, it was slowed considerably by his tag along. Amidell possessed not a scrap of leather for shoes, and so she stepped delicately. She ignored his offers of help except for holding her hand as she climbed down. Trevelyan gave up, even as the odd creature failed to notice she left behind a trail bloody footprints.

"Sir!" Lingon greeted when Trevelyan returned with his charge. Lingon gave Amidell a puzzled look.

"I thought you were just a traveler!" Amidell said. "Are you with the Inquisition?"

"Still just a traveler," Trevelyan said over his shoulder. Meanwhile, he covertly signaled to Lingon to play along. "This is corporal Lingon from the Inquisition. My first horse broke it's leg, so I got some help of my own."

Taken off guard, Lingon shifted on his feet, then cleared his throat and said, "It's part of an Inquisition soldier's duty to assist those in need, m'lady," Lingon said.

"You do the Maker's work," she said.

Trevelyan drew close to Lingon and held up the message case. He said quietly, "I had to make a bargain for your promotion. Keep it up." He then placed the container in the corporal's hand.

Lingon nodded, and with an exaggerated wink said, "Aye, sir."

The raven was sent, and the canoe loaded. With mighty heaves, Lingon and Trevelyan pushed the craft into the sea while Amidell sat aboard. When the current began to take, Trevelyan jumped in.

"Be careful, sir! I'll hang _myself_ from the battlements if you die out there!" Lingon called.

"Don't worry, corporal! Be safe on your way back!" Trevelyan replied.

"Goodbye!" Amidell yelled, waving.

Trevelyan turned and picked up the oars. He examined Amidell more closely in the daylight, and tried to imagine what Dorian would say about new 'friend', but swiftly realized that his vocabulary would not do the justice Dorian's could. Dorian would be far less kinder, no doubt. "Blight-ridden ballerina" and "sickly runt of a witch" came to mind.

He glanced at the odd sack that she carried on her lap that she compulsively stoked and squeezed. He felt a sharp shiver race up his spine, a peculiar feeling he knew he recognized but could not name. Again, he felt the question of the bag's contents rise in his throat. Perhaps it was weariness, or the desire to protect his identity, but he held back the question and swallowed it once more.


	9. Hooked

Trevelyan directed the canoe carefully to dock with the decrepit wharf. The dock existed as part of the 'other' harbor outside Ostwick- a port meant for poor fishermen, shady merchants, and whatever sundry of peasants and knaves that crowded the slums outside the double-walls of the city. Since he grew up among nobles, Trevelyan's had little experience in this section of Ostwick and had never seen it up close before. Nonetheless, he felt a swell of delight in his breast in knowing that he had made it home. He tossed a loop of rope from the boat over a corroded bollard and pulled the canoe in.

"Alright, we made it," he said. His passenger, Amidell, suddenly leaped off of the boat and onto the pier.

"At last," she said. She then took off down the pier toward the city.

"Wait, hold on!" Trevelyan shouted. He squatted to retain his balance on the violently rocking boat. He clutched the rope and pulled, then grabbed onto the barnacle-crusted wood of the pier when it came into reach. He quickly wrapped and tied the rope off, then hopped onto the pier and searched the length of it for Amidell. He grimaced indignantly when he could not find her, undoubtedly lost among the crowd swarming merchant stalls and fishmongers.

Anger told him he should have dumped her on a shore outside Kirkwall as he promised. She made little for conversation while he strained to pull the canoe across the turbulent sea. Mutters under her breath and vigorous shakes of her head when he asked her to speak up comprised the extent of her socializing. When the tall, clouded peaks of Vimmark Mountains materialized on the horizon, only then did she speak words he could understand.

_"You're not really going to abandon me here, are you?" she said timidly._

_"I intend to deliver my end of our bargain," he said. "I don't want to be responsible if something happens while you're with me."_

_"So it's better to be long gone if and when something happens to me out here. There are slavers everywhere out here!"_

_"So don't get caught," Trevelyan said, and a bit harsher than he intended. His arms were in burning from exertion, and he had little patience left for the feeble oddity sitting across from him. Amidell huffed and said nothing, opting to clutch her bag tightly to her chest. She turned to look out at the sea in despair, her bottom lip quivering._

_Her pose was heartbreaking, and Trevelyan cringed at the sight. "Good Maker," he grumbled. He allowed the view of the approaching landscape to distract him. The Vimmarks, especially Sundermount, always made for an impressive sight, even as the stormy peaks brewed and thundered with hostility. Soon, he found himself looking at Amidell again, then back and forth. He sighed, concluding that she was right- it would be unbearably cruel to leave someone so frail to the mercy of the raging elements. Lucky for her, he possessed a conscience, and one that would suffer were he to commit such unbearable cruelty._

_"Fine. I won't leave you here," he said in defeat._

Thus he was none-to-pleased to be the one abandoned so abruptly, and without receiving the decency of a 'thank you'. He consoled himself with the fact that he was rid of her now, at least. He could fully enjoy the thrill of adventure, free of his obligations as not just as an accidental ferryman, but as the Inquisitor. He fished his purse and provisions from the canoe and wandered down the pier, taking in the homely sights and raw smells of everyday business on this side of Ostwick.

Trevelyan ascended the steps leading up from the wharf and onto the granite street. He pulled his hood over his brow and discreetly glanced around, wondering where exactly Dorian planned to be. He then looked up at a wooden sign, not far from where he stood. On it declared the words 'The Rusty Hook', replete with the gigantic, eponymous object swinging from it below. He figured an inn would be a good place to start. He approached, shaking off the smell of a peculiar mix of grog, saltwater, and body odor.

He pushed open the door of this Rusty Hook and slipped inside. He sat at the bar and ordered himself a drink. He planned on calming his nerves for a minute before commencing his search. The bartender deposited the drink with one hand and Trevelyan deposited a coin in his other. Trevelyan exhaled deeply after he took a hearty swig.

He then felt someone lean against the bar next to him. "Hello, sailor," he said.

Trevelyan smiled and looked over to that someone and said, "That didn't take long."

Dorian replied, "This shithole is on prime location. Your presence was inevitable." He then leaned back, furrowed his brow in annoyance and said, "I said _nondescript_ chic. Not _leper_."

"Nice to see you, too," Trevelyan said. He, too, then returned the look when he noticed something very different about his companion. He sported a leather coat with characteristic broad lapels, a sash tied around his waist, and buckled boots with a hefty fold over at the knee. No staff, replaced by a basic dagger encased in a sheath on his belt. Hunter's clothes.

"If anyone asks, I'm a roguish sort myself. Definitely not a mage. I'll stab you if you call me that. Though this seems to be the sort of place where a good stick in the ribs would be considered a form of 'hello'." Dorian said.

Trevelyan said with no small concern for his partner, "What's going on?"

"Finish that, then follow me," he said.

Dorian lead him outside the tavern and to a wooden railing overlooking the bustling harbor. He leaned forward against it and said, "Look at them. Take a good look. Do you notice anything?"

Trevelyan scanned the docks. He focused in on a few member of the crowd, looking for anything that might indicate what Dorian was referring to.

"I'm not seeing anything," Trevelyan admitted.

Dorian whispered, "What about any mages, specifically?"

Trevelyan scanned again and honed in on a woman wearing Circle clothes. She lifted and stacked baskets of dried herbs behind a merchant's stall. Though it looked like strenuous work, she did so mechanically with her face locked in a blank stare.

Trevelyan then looked at Dorian. Dorian said, "Yes, you have to look carefully, but there's an alarming frequency of individuals who appear to have been kicked in the head. Repeatedly. Oh, and all of them happen to wear mage garb."

"Tranquil?" Trevelyan whispered.

Dorian's look was grim. "One or two here and there was never that unusual, but it wasn't long before I noticed this whole city is teeming with them."

"I suppose Ostwick has become a refuge for them," Trevelyan suggested.

"Perhaps," Dorian said. "I donned something similar to your style as a precaution, however. I think it will be convincing enough while we investigate that theory."

"We agreed we would stay no longer than one night!"

"Ergo our canvassing will have to be very efficient."

"Dorian..."

Dorian turned to face him. "Don't you dare. Away with that disapproving look! You're just as curious about this as I am, I know it. Or did you change the Inquisition's emblem from an opened eye to a blind one since I left?"

"Alright, alright. Don't be so dramatic," Trevelyan said. "We'll have a look around."

Dorian smiled in victory. "That's the spirit, amatus. You know, I do like the way this fits," he said, glancing down to admire himself. He then looked up at Trevelyan with smoky eyes. "I understand why you prefer it."

"I'm certainly not complaining," Trevelyan said.

"You insatiable lech. Those roving eyes of yours can only bait trouble."

Trevelyan smirked. "How much trouble?"

* * *

><p>Dorian dragged him into an alleyway and pushed him against the brick wall. He glanced over to each side of him before greedily closing his lips on Trevelyan's. Dorian ran his hands over Trevelyan's chest and shoulders, then down to caress the buldge growing between Trevelyan's legs. Trevelyan pulled away to shut his eyes and gasp.<p>

"Careful, darling. We don't want to draw attention," Dorian breathed.

Trevelyan could only bite his lip, his gaze drunk with desperate want.

"Maker," Dorian swore, joining their lips again.

Suddenly, Trevelyan tore away from him. A sharp prickling sensation shot up through his spine. The shock made him shudder, and he put a hand to his forehead.

"Amatus?" Dorian said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He examined Trevelyan's eyes and said, "Aren't you just the delicate flower today?"

Trevelyan gently pushed Dorian off and scanned the alleyway. "You don't feel that?" he asked Dorian.

"I was feeling it, sadly," he said.

Trevelyan acknowledged him with a sideways glance, then said, "Over there."

They traveled down the narrow passage to an intersection with another alley. As soon as Trevelyan craned over to check the cross street, a blur of a humanoid figure scampered by right under his nose. Startled, he stepped back, then immediately stepped into the alley to see who it was.

Female, very slight physique. Trevelyan's face fell when he thought he recognized the matted tangle of hair and the threadbare dress. "Hey!" he called out. She continued without slowing down, so Trevelyan gave chase. "Amidell?" he called again. Still she did not stop.

"I thought we were avoiding people you know in this town," Dorian said, jogging behind.

Trevelyan looked over and said, "Long story."

They continued to follow her retreat down the alleyway. She made a sharp right down another. Trevelyan slowed, again cautiously peeking around the corner before stepping forward. He then motioned for Dorian to come around to look as well. Curiously, she had stopped, stooped, and reached out to pull up on the handle of a cellar door. Trevelyan noted she held that same odd bag as before, confirming for him that this was indeed Amidell. She then disappeared down below and the cellar door fell shut with a dull clang.

"I think that's our lead," Trevelyan said.


	10. A Foul Air

Rancid fumes struck their nose like a heavy mallet. Reflexively, they both covered their noses with their sleeves.

Dorian said, "Oh, Maker, the smell. It's..._ghastly_. On second thought, maybe we should just leave this alone."

"You can stay out here if you must, but I must find out what she is up to," Trevelyan coughed out. His eyes watered. "I can meet you back at the Rusty Harpoon, or whatever it was."

"And spend one more second around all the vulgar cretins who infest it? I'd rather take my chances down there." Trevelyan moved to jump down, but Dorian put his other arm out to stop him. "No, I'll go first."

Trevelyan watched Dorian leap down into the pit, falling only a short distance before he landed without incident. Dorian checked all around him, then motioned to Trevelyan to join him.

The door clanged shut above Trevelyan. He was blinded momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. There were corridors on either side of where they stood, mirroring the alley above. Gray sunlight seeped through small holes and grates overhead and gave them some degree of visibility.

"Now, which way did our little bunny go?" Dorian asked, still holding the cuff of his sleeve to his face. "Can't you recalibrate something and detect her like you did? Where on Thedas did you even meet her? You really do have such odd friends."

"I'm sorry, but I think we'll have to guess," Trevelyan said.

"So it just as well may turn out that we spend our entire afternoon wandering Ostwick's sewers. Brilliant! Exactly what I had in mind when I suggested a tour of the city."

"Just come on. This way," Trevelyan said, choosing the path that retraced their path on the street above. Colonies of vermin scuttled in the shadows around their footsteps. Covering their faces soon proved useless as the putrid smell fully penetrated their garments.

"I feel one more rat crawl over my boots and I blow the place up," Dorian said between gulps of air.

They walked down a long stretch of a tunnel and turned a corner, then another. And another. They reached a dead end and were forced to backtrack. Another long corridor, then more corners.

"There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to any of this," Trevelyan said after several minutes of navigating the maze.

"You just figured this out?" Dorian said.

"And you have a better idea of where we should go?" Trevelyan said, greatly annoyed.

"No, but maybe we would find a better clue _outside_ of this festering hell instead of groping around like idiots!"

Frustrated, Trevelyan huffed and walked faster, hoping for the same feeling in his spine to give him a clue.

Then, just as he rounded another corner, he felt a solid object crash into his solar plexus. He fell backward into the fetid water with a splash, and with the wind knocked right out of his lungs.

"Oh dear, that was a spill. Are both of you all right?" Dorian asked, kneeling next to Trevelyan. Regaining his senses, Trevelyan looked up to see a young boy, no older than eight years. The child held his head as though injured, but did not cry out. In fact, he appeared to be rather unconcerned by the injury.

"Are you hurt?" The child echoed Dorian's question, but in a far more neutral voice, as though it were inconsequential.

"I'll be just fine. I shouldn't have been rushing, so I got what I deserved. I'm just sorry you are hurt as well," Trevelyan said.

"I will heal," the child replied, again with little affect.

Dorian knitted his brow inquisitively and asked, "Child, what is your name? And what are you doing in such a foul place? Lost, perhaps?"

The child answered, "My name is Barnabus. I am not lost. This is my home."

"Your home?" Dorian said, standing up. He approached the child, his eyes fixated in astonishment. "How can that be? Do other people live down here?"

"Yes. All the Tranquil do."

"Oh, child, are you...?" Dorian could not finish. He grew fearsomely still as tears filled his eyes. Then, in a rage, he turned to Trevelyan and said, "Who does this? Who does this to a child? There is no way they could have known he had any magical ability!"

The horror of it overwhelmed Trevelyan as well. Worse, a vague suspicion sunk deep into his stomach and nauseated him. He brought himself to his feet and said, "Scared people. Paranoid, foolish people. That's who."

Dorian turned to the child and demanded, "Where are the others?"

"They are in the Vaults. I can show you," Barnabus said.


End file.
